Uprising
by dragon of fallen souls
Summary: Freedom Fighter's war against the gov't has been going on for almost 3 generations. It was her duty to win the war. Now torn between her inner demons, will the Supreme Leader fulfill her duty?
1. The Stage is Set

_Disclaimer: I don't own. If I did I would make the story like this…_

_Summary Overall: Tyranny, poverty, and an unjust system plague the world of a not so distant future. The only hope comes from a small band of rebels hidden within the corrupt society._

_Warnings Overall: femslash, slash, het, blood, swearing, drugs, AU, adult themes_

_Summary: Freedom Fighter's war against the government has been going on for almost three generations. It was her duty to win the war. Now torn between her inner demons, will the Supreme Leader fulfill her duty?_

_A/N: charting in untested waters for my self. So lets see where it goes…_

Uprising: The Stage is Set

The burning dry smell of the cowboy killer brand wafted like a dance up to the ceiling of the enclosed room. Round fingers, that the bone underneath was completely hidden brought the slime stick to thick lips. The owner of the lips inhaled deeply with a small wheeze. Many years of chain-smoking taking it's toll. Being a man that never cared for such things as heath he exhaled while speaking to the others in the room.

"Damn those vigilantes." He spat, "Always getting in the way!" he paced the room. His cancer stick's cherry, almost the full length of the shaft, dangerously shook to his movements. This mission was supposed to end hours ago. His men fucked up again, now he was stuck with these _cheap_ tobacco sticks. "Can't you shit heads get ye act together? They're just some uneducated bastards of kids!"

"Um Mr. Fulbright…" a young Ninja spoke softy to his boss. His Battle Ready Amour[1 torn and broken from the encounter a few hours ago, hung around his braised shoulders. He was new. Too new that he didn't even have a chance.

"Who-" he growled spattering, "Who the _hell_ is this?" His arms wave to his chest, "That would call me-" his thick face twisted and red, "I don't have time for this. Would you please?" He batted his hand back in dismissive, signaling to his other men.

Rapid-fire echoed loudly through out the warehouse. All that could be heard after was the dragging of a body across the concrete floor, getting softer as it was pulled out of the room.

"My name is Mr. Boss." Mr. Boss threw his cherry full cigarette into the freshly spilled puddle of DNA. "Now I want a minute by minute report on who was doing what and when. I don't care if they went to have a forty-five second jerk-off. I want to know how this happened. And who the fuck does the K-N-D think they are?!"

Mr. Boss' hand reached into his holster pulling out his six-barrel magnum, pulling the trigger once, aiming at the graffiti'd wall. Crating a smoldering bullet hole within the red spray paint letters spelling out: KND.

---

_1: Yes he's wearing a 'BRA', which is in a hilarious episode with Numbah 1 and Numbah 2, believe Cree's bra is B-battle R-ready A-amour. Which in the end it turns out it is. So I was thinking the guys must have one too. (or would it be a jock cup? Is it explained in the series?) Any way for this fanfic it's a necklace that when touched forms the Ninja suits. I'll explain how it's used in later chapters._

_A/N: While trying to get (and then giving up) the 'spoken' accent of Mr. Boss I stumbled across a site that has people speaking the same paragraph from ALL around the word in English to 'hear' the difference in accents. _

_Interest as it was I still can not find a site that has the 'written' (yes I know I should just say what 'accent' they have after they 'speak' but I love when words that a person would speak is spelled out. i.e. Y'all, g'day, vant) Of course I know and have come across some words that are supposed to have an accent but I don't understand what the word means in 'proper' grammar spelling in English. Also if you're one of the few that can read/understand phonetics: then congrats to you. That shit's hard! Yes I'm a product of my generation. Went to public school and they never fully explained phonetics. (all I knew was that it was the symbols that helped 'sounding out' a word in the dictionary.)_


	2. Not to Act

_Disclaimer: don't own_

**Uprising: Not to Act**

She was pacing heavily around her war room. The brightly glowing blue sphere filled up the window of the room. Charts and papers scattered across the oak desk. She couldn't believe this. The Supreme Leader of the KND, the 'Blonde Ninja', Number 362 herself just received some grave information. This information just given was a blow to her sanity. Just a few minutes ago before she lit this now almost gone cigarette, she was told something she never, _never_ in her twenty-five years would conceive.

What was she to do? What could she do? The informant did his job. He 'informed' her of the intelligence just gathered. Mr. Fulbright, of Fulbright Co, Senator of the Board also moonlighted as Mr. Boss. _The _Mr. Boss the one and only who was responsible for personally, and brutally murdering civilians.

She has always been able to keep the personal and the business separate. She had to. Being Supreme Commander meant many things. And the most important was never show weakness, nor show favoritism.

Now with the knowledge that one of her operatives…her own lieutenant…and her _dearest_ friend…

She laughed to her self at that one. Snuffing her cigarette out as she fell into her chair. Pulling open the drawer in her desk, which she knew had the bitterest tasting whisky keep there, with a most expensive double crystal glass cleaned and ready for use. She poured more then a double in, tilting back to take in the vile liquid.

Was the fate of this_ operative_ the same fate that had befallen her most excellent Sector? Sector Z… she could still remember that battle. Smelled the burning wood and debris. The blood obscuring her vision has she saw each of them slowly being pull into a mind fuck. They became utterly unaware of whom they once were as they fell deep into the corrupt mind of their _father_, their family.

Family ties. After that incident she had no choice but to order the decommission of over a dozen operatives. Her personal feelings of the matter; after the order was given she drowned her self in bitter tasting whiskey, did not matter. To have another repeat of what happened she could not afford. So any operative that had a family member knowingly within the Organization had to be... What if that devise, what ever it was that was used on Sector Z, could eventually be reprogrammed. Operatives from the device's efforts would change sides _with_ remembering everything. That would mean the end of KND. That was not going to happen on _her_ watch.

She set the glass down softy scraping it across the oak desk angrily as her heart beat just a little bit faster. She had to order an immediate decommission, but as her heart clenched, which she blamed on the whiskey, she hesitated to pick up the phone. Her mind pestered her:

_Why are you the one that has to make scarifies?_

She calmly spoke back to her mind that _every one _has made sacrifices and _has_ lost. Her mind kept on going:

_You have always put your feelings aside. 'bout time you take something._

She again disagreed with herself even if in the back of her consciousness she wanted to believe she could do something…a little _selfish._

_You can. Remember all those years…you need_ _them…you __**want**__-_

She swiftly picked up her drinking glass and threw it across the room. The clash echoed threw out. The small, shattered pieces clinked on the carpeted floor.

Years flash in her mind's eye. How she become an operative. Then a lieutenant, and finally the Supreme Commander of KND. All that time… they where there. Always. Never backing down from a fight. Always refusing to give up. Always loyal…

Her hand went past the phone and touched the memorized numbers on the keypad of the ComVid. Her voice hoarse and dry she spoke the authorization codes. She was doing the one thing she always refused to do: She put her _feelings_ before her better judgment.

The screen across the room blinked on and there stood the leader of Sector V, Number 1 himself.

"Three-hundred and sixty-two what is the emergency?" his strong yet slightly high voice entered her ears.

"No emergency Number One," She paused. Her eyes trying to see underneath those dark shades he wore. His face showing slight empathy for his leader, "Just this: Delete all information regarding the last trans."

She didn't have to say the last part. She didn't have to tell him never to bring the subject up again. For that was Number 1. He never questioned openly when other operatives were around nor would he question when she order such an order.

"Understood." Came his reply as the ComVid flicked off.

The room seemed heavier, the air thicker. Maybe the gravitation or air systems were having a glitch. She should go check on that. As she left the room she refused to look at the shatter crystal on the ground. She refused to feel her heart clenching within her chest.

* * *

_ A/N: …_


	3. Act on Nothing

Uprising: Acting on Nothing

362. That was who she was. The Supreme Commander of the KND. This was her base. She made it. She knew every nock and cranny there was. She knew where the operatives went to hang out. She knew where they went to make out. She knew where they would never go.

They would never go down to the Section 3. The small cramped quarters of the higher-ranking operative's. When it was built she never assigned which sleeping quarters where which. They formed on their own. The Science Squad took Section 2, the Combat Experts Section 6, the drifters Section 10. Somehow Section 3, even though they where smaller quarters, the leader ship of the Moon Base stayed there. She her self chose it because of how quiet and away from the main hussy and busily of the base. She thought that maybe she wasn't the only one who wanted to be _away_.

Numbur 62368, the Archive Chief, saluted her in half regard. He continued to look down at his ragged old notebook mumbling to himself. He paused, looking at her with heavy bags under his eyes.

"Sir, I have yet to get your report on this past week's events." He spoke scratching his 5 o'clock shadow.

"Yes. I'm terribly sorry I will get it to you at next shift change."

He continued with out another word, going to his office that 362 knew looked like a labyrinth of filing cabinets. Work driven persons are the ones that always put them self's in the situations. She decided to order a mandatory vacation for him for next week. She needed everyone in his or her top mental state. No matter what her own was.

Her quarter's where at the end of the long corridor. The room a crossed, she paused to look at it, was Numbur 86's. She wondered if the other woman was home. She knocked and waited for a voice to tell her to come in.

There was no answer so either 86 was gone or didn't feel like answering. She entered the combination on the door pad with the door opening in a whoosh. She steeped in before the door whooshed closed. So 86 was doing the third thing, sleeping.

362 eyed the small square table in the middle of the small room. Paper work scattered on top and below. A small foldable chair had a discarded over shirt with heavy black boots at its feet. She raised her eyes to the wall cubby, which held a raised bed with drawers underneath. There was the curly red head sleeping deeply with a sock less foot handing over the side. Empty beer cans lie neatly below the foot. A careless hand over the eyes to block the lamp that softly lit the room. Her other hand held onto a picture frame.

She knew whom that picture frame held. She had been in 86's room many times. Too many…She walked over to 86 avoiding the cans, to pull the picture frame away. She refused to see the brown hair woman in the picture. Placing it face down on the table. 86 stirred, her careless arm feel back down on to the bed.

"_I met someone Rachel." _

_362 paused on her writing, looking up to acknowledge 86. The other woman seemed to be dancing left and right on the balls of her feet._

"_That's nice." 362 whispered pulling her chair closer to her office desk. Continuing to write this week's report._

"_Do I detect jealousy three-sixty-two?" 86 grinned deciding to purse the comment._

"_Please don't let that red head of yours get any bigger. Just don't let her get in the way of your duties." 86 never said the person was a female. The word 'her' just came out naturally._

"_She won't because she's an operative. Smart funny…strong…" 86 went into that lovey-dovey fantasy world._

"_Well I better not hear you're misusing you rank…"_

"_Christ what's up with you asexuals…" she sat on the oak desk, "You always think the worst of fucking. Like getting laid is going to end the world." Her vulgar language was told threw out the lands._

"_Well-"_

"_And another thing __**you**__ acting like a __**real**__ a virgin?"_

"_Eighty-six!" she cried in disbelief, "To talk to a commanding officer-"_

"_Christ lass I was talking to you like a friend. You're the one that's always so uptight!"_

"You always smell of those damn cigarettes you smoke." 86 grumbled addressing 362.

"An' you always smell like alcohol." She knew she shouldn't say it. She herself was no saint on the abuse of alcohol. This 86 knew and no attempt to hide that fact other wise.

"Oh have come to convert me Sister Rachael for _all_ my sins." 362 a little shocked when her name was spoken. She forgot this red fuzzy haired woman knew her true name. She didn't show it as she stood up to sit on the chair. 86 sat up starching, cracking her back as her gray tank top rise to her belly button. Her pant clad legs swung over the side. Purposely avoiding the cans. "Care to tell me what I gotten waken for?"

86 walked over to her small portable frig opening it up to notice it was bare. Sighing heavily she closed it to one again look at 362.

"I…" she must never show weakness. "I got a-" she stopped her self. Telling 86 something she must already have known. Maybe she never knew…maybe… "I was thinking." She put herself out for the next jest.

"That dangerous." Came the replied, as 86 lend against the table.

* * *

_A/N: ..._


End file.
